


Fatelocked

by f0rt1ss1m0



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: 76th Hunger Games, Canon-Typical Violence, Capitol Games, Gen, Marked As Gen Until Ships Are Suggested, Original Character Death(s), POV Second Person, Reader-Interactive, See End of Work Notes for Command Submission Guidelines, Text-based Adventure Style
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-09
Updated: 2015-03-07
Packaged: 2018-03-11 07:08:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 3,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3318557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/f0rt1ss1m0/pseuds/f0rt1ss1m0
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Regarding the antics of twenty-four children with strange hair colors, and how they played a game at the edge of the end of the world.</p><p>Reader commands open.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. TRIBUTE ONE: Introduce yourself.

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Fighting Fire](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/97325) by DarkHorseBlueSky (aka me). 



> Submission guidelines at end of the last posted chapter. Just read the whole thing before asking questions, it's all explained down there.

A young man sits in a prison cell, his blue-haired head in his hands. It just so happens that today, the 4th of July, is this young man's birthday — though there is nothing to celebrate about. As of today this young man is eighteen years old, and a tribute in the Seventy-Sixth Hunger Games.

On his right forearm is tattooed a letter and a number in black ink: **T1.** But that isn't his real name. His real name was stolen from him last night, when he was captured.

What will the name of this young man be?

> ENTER NAME.  



	2. ENTER NAME: Todd Smrglebuff.

Your name is TODD SMRGLEBUFF.

The young man recoils in disgust. This isn't his name! This is a poor attempt at irony by an anonymous Guest who cheated off one of the author's submission examples!

He shakes his head and points to the commenting box again. Try again, smartass.

> Try again.  



	3. Try again.

Your name is PETRONIUS LYRE.

That's it.

That's your name.

> PETRONIUS: Examine prison cell.   



	4. PETRONIUS: Examine prison cell.

Your name is Petronius. As previously mentioned it is your birthday — but there is nothing to celebrate about. Your prison cell is small, with barely enough room to take five steps across. There are no windows. The only light comes through a single lightbulb from the ceiling, which only works about half the time.

The cell is otherwise empty save the bed on which you sit, a bucket in the corner, and a plate of bread. You have not yet tasted the bread, though you are awfully hungry. You have the sudden desire to go back to sleep, but that is a common feeling for you. Gods, you love to sleep.

Besides sleeping in and generally annoying your mother by sleeping in, you have a variety of interests.  You once had a collection of ancient archaeology and geology textbooks, but they were lost when rebels looted your house. You greatly enjoy Internet roleplaying and have your own special RP character — Sir Petriov, the greatest knight in all of Medieval Panem, Slayer of the Bright Dragon, Holder of the Garnet Warsword and Hero of the Obsidian Duchess, Suitor of the beautiful Empress of Mythernia. You also like to lift weights sometimes.

What will you do?

> PETRONIUS: Eat your bread.


	5. PETRONIUS: Eat your bread.

At the request of the author, because there is no one else to give commands at this time, you make your way across the room to the plate of bread.

Upon touching it you realize that it is still warm from when the baker pulled it out of the oven. And you sure are hungry. It couldn't hurt to take a small bite... You cautiously sink your teeth into the grain product.

BLUHHHH!

That was NOT bread! You're...not really sure WHAT it was, but you can definitely rule out ONE possibility. You wonder if you should try to eat it again.

You're still hungry.

> PETRONIUS: Devise impossibly daring and clever escape strategy.


	6. PETRONIUS: Devise impossibly daring and clever escape strategy.

Once more, you examine your surroundings. This time however you notice, by the plate of bread (?), a small rectangular flap at the base of the cell door. Upon examination you note that it swings on small hinges, and is just large enough for a plate of food (?) to be nudged in for your enjoyment. Tentatively, you push the flap open. However, your fine motor skills have never been the best, and you accidentally push the flap open too fast and too hard. Outside your door you hear a yelp of pain, a thud, and crying.

"Oops," you flinch. "Sorry...!"

Then you flinch again at the last word. This is a hostile enemy environment and you are a prisoner trying to make an impossibly daring and clever escape strategy! There is no time for sentiments or apologies towards the enemy's guards! You close your mouth and put on a stoic expression of a hardened prisoner of war.

Still...you feel awful sorry for the guard. Secretly you hope that this facility has medical care advanced enough to treat the nasty bruise you gave him, but you won't tell anyone this.

You stand up and begin to walk around your room again, searching for another way to escape.

There is another, slimmer metal rectangle in the wall next to your bed, at the perfect height that if it were a slideout computer, you might be able to sit in bed and use it.

You used to have one of these at home, next to your own comfortable bed! Man, you loved that thing.

At least...

At least, until your house got bombed and you and your family lost everything you had.

Ah well, might as well try it for nostalgia's sake.

Just for the irony.

A smile graces your lips as you climb into bed and ironically reach for the metal rectangle. You definitely don't expect it to slide out and bring up a screen. And you definitely don't expect the screen to look familiar, with the same files, browsers and applications that you saw that last night at your house (including the FRUITY RUMPUS ASSHOLE FACTORY analysis that you had to do for your English class and failed to delete, much to your own embarrassment). And you most of all definitely don't expect your chat application to blink insistently the second you set eyes upon it, as if on cue. Long story short you don't expect anything that happens within the next few seconds, because having access to not only a computer but _wireless access_ in a prison?

Someone wasn't thinking something through.

> PETRONIUS: Attempt to access classified info before a warning pops up on the screen and shuts down the computer and guards rush in.


	7. PETRONIUS: Attempt to access classified info before a warning pops up on the screen and shuts down the computer and guards rush in.

Haha, you wish.

You can barely even navigate half the adventure games out there.

Perhaps you should ask AG about doing something like that later. It's a good idea, but perhaps it's not the best task to be carried out by you.

> PETRONIUS: Ignore your ignorance about computer hacking and chat with some random prisoner.


	8. PETRONIUS: Chat with a random prisoner.

You open your chat application, Cephaspeak. Granted, it's not the most high quality vidchat on the market and many of the great RPers and gamers like to ironically undermine its quality, and it  _does_ take up a heckton of computer space to save your vidlogs, but its simple design relaxes you. On the home screen float the icons of your friends and opponents, many of them inactive but at least present. One, however, is currently logged in.

* * *

"Hey kid," she drawls once you open a chat window. In place of the live video feed however, she has put in place her RP avatar — the Empress of Mythernia. Her abysmal mane of silky, colour-streaked black hair spills over her shoulders and around her pale face, filling an impressively sizable percentage of the screen. She's never let you onto live feed, even after you let her see yours.

You know that the face isn't real, but you can't help but feel just a little nervous upon seeing it.

The Empress reaches up and pushes her golden crown back, then locks gazes with you. "Kid," she says again, "I need you t'do me a favor. Just real quick, 'kay?"

You're confused and honestly don't think it's the right time and place to RP, but you nod and sit up straight. "Yes, Your Imperial Grace."

"Yeah yeah yeah, Her Imperial Grace or whatever. Look Pet, I'm being serious here. I need you to look around and tell me if you're still in the R-block."

The intensity of her slightly-filtered voice catches you off guard until you recover and realize your computer is also still set to your RP skin, and that the Empress cannot see what is truly behind you. "Actually, um, I'm in a prison cell," you tell her slowly. "I don't know where."

"Damn. Really." She doesn't sound the least bit surprised.

"Yeah. What about you?"

This time, it's her that's caught off guard. "Me?" She sits back in her throne, expression suddenly blank. "Yeah, I guess so too. Haven't figured a way out, but...have you tried gettin' the others?"

"Others?"

"Just talked to AG. Same for her."

"Oh." You're not really sure how to handle this information.

"Yeah. Wait, CC's tryin' to get me."

"Um...good luck, I guess."

Your tongue feels surprisingly thick and clumsy and before you can screw up any more sentences, you close the chat. Then you begin to hate yourself for the lack of smoothness of your parting words to the Mythernian Empress, and curl up at the end of your bed as your cheeks burn in shame.

You really wish you were someone else now.

> PETRONIUS: Be the Empress.


	9. PETRONIUS: Be the Empress.

You cannot be the Empress because you're much too embarrassed with your clumsy chat-dialogue to be her.

Try someone else.

> Be AG.


	10. Be AG.

You are now AG.

It was fourteen years ago that you were given life and five minutes ago that you were given this nettlesome tattoo that covers most of your right forearm, reading **T2** in black ink. It still stings, but you can ignore it. You can ignore anything.

> TRIBUTE TWO: Enter name.  



	11. TRIBUTE TWO: Enter name.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (AN: I already have names for about 3 out of 12 main characters, so if it ever seems like I am taking over the story, it's because I am. Just for now.)
> 
> (Okay, you can keep submitting now.)

Your name is Artemis Gossamer.

Your prison cell is nearly identical to your dear comrade Petronius's, although you don't know this yet. However you are certain that you can deduce it with your amazing powers of logic that it wouldn't make sense to make any single prison cell better than the others, especially as your captors seem not to care for your personal comfort or luxury. You're very confident in your amazing powers of logic. It's not like they've been wrong often.

As aforementioned you are a young woman of approximately fourteen years of age, barely old enough to wear the silver tattoos that grace your forehead but ever confident that you will not regret the choice to get them — and so far, you've been right. You're often right, actually. You are quite small and not necessarily strong. Which... _might_ become an issue in this game you are about to play, but your skills of prediction tell you that to trade a large brain for a large body would lower your survival rate by at least 40%.

You consider yourself a polymath of sorts, but you digress. Best not to brag about it — you consider your tact as sharp as ever for a fourteen-year-old girl, and consider it quite wise not to boast your own intelligence. However, it is because of this that you have a wide variety of interests, because since you are good at practically everything you are amused by practically anything. These include astronomy, computer programming and a somewhat annoying habit to join basically any conversation that adults assume you're not capable of understanding.

One thing you do not understand, however, is the definition of "a poorly written Mary Sue".

What will you do, Mary Sue?

> ARTEMIS: Attempt to access classified info before a warning pops up on the screen and shuts down the computer and guards rush in. 


	12. ARTEMIS: Attempt to access classified info before a warning pops up on the screen and shuts down the computer and guards rush in.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which CC says absolutely nothing of importance, which if you feel inclined to skip or simply skim you may feel free to do so.
> 
> Name suggestions for the Empress and our other 8 to-be-introduced main characters are welcomed and open.

You make your way again to your holocomputer and glance briefly at the screen, where your chat application, Adoni2, is open. CC just tried messaging you, but you were much too busy introducing yourself to pay attention to any of his long-winded inquiries. Simply to amuse yourself (and, though you may not admit it, to stall while you arrange your thoughts on what to do next) you open his text message.

Or in the case, his short novel.

* * *

_Inquisitor3: This is a message to all prisoners, T1-T24, from Tribute 3._

_Inquisitor3: I find it difficult to comprehend the fact that as of now we are ALL incarcerated, rather than simply one as would be appropriate for a manner of more subtlety; however my system grants me access to the general security listings of this particular wing of the complex (Corridor 24-12, quite a long corridor, with tributes imprisoned on alternating sides according to the gender-based numbers which they have assigned us, with male tributes labeled with the odds and females with evens) and I can assure you in all confidence that between the hours of 2100 last night and 0400 this morning each tribute was carefully selected out of their government-assigned living block, sedated with a benign chemical which may in the case of the victim's conditions become slightly malign (but only in the case that the aforementioned victim is lactose intolerant, plagued by kidney stones or pregnant, which I assume none of you are but just to be on the safe side I shall disclaim that I have mentioned already), imprinted with ink of our numbers and left here, often before any of us had even begun to recover from the effects of the aforementioned sedative._

_Inquisitor3: As for the identities of our fellow tributes I shall leave them anonymous, besides myself and those you have already contacted, or may have seen online via your chat server, for the simple reason that our captors may not wish for me to disclose their identities to you and thus spoil the advantage they have given me, and will certainly exploit. Undermining or giving away an advantage, as you, my dear, may already know, often leads to a disadvantage not against myself but against you as my fellow players, and as for this I shall remain silent. I fear that the identities of our fellow players in this game (for it is a game, little else needs be said of our situation) may play an important role in our understanding of how to help them — which as much of an oxymoron as it may be makes perfect sense upon the consideration that their statuses range from potentially very dangerous to nothing at all, in the eyes of our captors at least. It seems in fact that some of us were taken simply to fill in the twelve male, twelve female quota as due fit for a proper Hunger Games, and that they are of the weak types who may not survive the first day. I will disclose to you, however, the wisdom in keeping their identities unknown — for if you knew them all you may become alarmed, or angry, or targeted, et cetera — things we honestly do not need in any case, if your intentions are escape or if your intentions are to play. It does seem to me there are quite a few of you who may thank me for your anonymity, in the event that it might give you an extra advantage in the two weeks to come.  
_

_Inquisitor3: I have not ruled out the possibility that we may yet be able to avoid this game; however, statistics tell me it is impossible to avoid some sort of confrontation. Though I have access to the security listings of this building I have no plausible way to bypass this mere summary and delve into the technology supporting them — and my cell seems more secured than the rest (save one other whose name I shall not disclose in a public message). I am completely aware of the fact that our captors are reading our messages as we send them, watching our every move and listening our every word sent via audio/video chatspeak. To those of you simply skimming my message, I assure you that I have not mentioned anything of secret, or particular importance that you or they do not already know. If you never get this message it means that I was wrong and that I did, in fact, mention something that I should not have. However I have analyzed the odds, and it occurs to me that leaving the summary of prison security in my proverbial hands would be an indescribably stupid move if our captors did not have it in full confidence that I would be unable to disclose anything of importance to anyone.  
_

_Inquisitor3: As such I will leave the hopes in your hands. Do not be alarmed, for there ARE hopes. For this is the reason I have contacted you, to reassure your fears of the future at hand, to remind you that there is a way to get out of this. Please do not be afraid.  
_

_Inquisitor3: AG, please check your stream inbox at your earliest convenience and message me.  
_

* * *

 You minimize CC's tome of absolutely nothing of importance and does as he says. There is a small file of attachments there, labeled with a title so long that the computer has autocorrected it to a simple, three period ellipse. As you open it a small warning pops up near the top of your screen, but you ignore it and begin to peruse the list of code. To anyone else, it's useless. To you, it's treasure.

Quickly you save it and exit, just before the warning at the top of your screen begins to duplicate with exponential speed. Predictably, it eventually fills your entire field of vision before shutting down your computer, and alarm bells begin to sound throughout the prison complex. Then, also predictably for some reason, guards in black uniforms rush in, shoot you with tranquilizers, drop you in a large bag and carry you out of your cell.

Predictably.

When the bag comes off, you're seated in a chair with your wrists tied to the armrests. You don't fight. Instead, you calmly crack your eyes open and examine your surroundings. The room is dark except for the single light above the conference table, and you can't see anyone. Somewhere, you hear a door open, but you don't see it nor anyone coming in.

Then someone steps into the light.

"Good evening, Artemis."

> Leave us on a cliffhanger and be CC.


	13. Leave us on a cliffhanger and be CC.

You are now, officially, CC.

The young man who is, in fact, CC, can see The Reader cringing. He knows what you're thinking. He knows that you're expecting character descriptions fifty pages long, with sentences 200 words long and 50 commas and too many "therefores".

But no.

In reality, your head is a relatively succinct place.

Or at least, so you like to tell yourself.

> TRIBUTE THREE: Enter name.


	14. TRIBUTE THREE: Enter name.

Your name is Caius Cassius Adrian Angelico and you did not pick your own name. So many people tease you about killing Julius Caesar. God, you wish they'd cut it out already. It was funny at first, but now it's just irritating.

You sit on your cell bed, gnawing on the bread they have given you. You don't mind it all that much, so long as you remember to like totally not use your tastebuds at all. You are of medium stature but below average weight, due to poor conditions in your government-assigned living block. People kept stealing your food tickets. You always figured out who they were and tried turning them in, but rebels and anarchists don't have a great system of law and order.

Obviously.

Otherwise you wouldn't even be in this mess.

You are of fifteen years of age, though you don't feel like it nowadays. A long time ago you had many interests such as mystery stories, online RPGs (with your intergalactic private eye, Anonymous Childe) and to your father's pure disgust, underground horticulture. Oh, the fruits of your labor. You wonder how your plants are doing. You had genetically engineered them to grow even without you tending to them and your watering and artificial sunlight systems SHOULD still be functioning according to their queue schedule, but since the revolution and your rescue/capture at the hands of the rebels you were never allowed to go back and prune them. You calculate that by now, left unattended, they would have dodectupled in size.

But you don't like to think about the consequences of that. Your strawberry plants, in their youth, were twenty feet tall.

You push the thoughts of your gargantuan fruit bushes out of your head (you tend to tear up a bit upon realizing how long it has been since you last saw your children) and turn to other thoughts at hand. You have just finished up sending a message of vague encouragement to your fellow tributes, and are currently relieving your hunger.

What will you do?

> CAIUS: Since nobody has suggested anything, talk to the author until they do. 


	15. CAIUS: Since nobody has suggested anything, talk to the Author until they do.

The Author spontaneously appears in your cell. You are mildly alarmed but roll with it, even though you're pretty certain that self-inserting is a surefire way to almost literally drop your readers at the backpage button and tell them "this story sucks. You can leave now."

Eh. Who's even reading this thing anymore anyway.

* * *

  **hey. hey cai**

CAIUS: What?

* * *

 

======>


	16. ======>

**i need you to do me a favor**

======>


	17. ======>

**i need you**

**to break down that freakin door**

* * *

> CAIUS: Break down that freaking door.


	18. > CAIUS: Break down that freaking door.

You examine the door. Well...it's not like you're a fourth degree black belt in _anything,_ but you suppose you could try.

Experimentally, you give it a side kick. It flies off its hinges with such force that it completely knocks out the only guards in the corridor, who coincidentally had just been in firing range of said door. You had only just received your third degree black belt before the fall of anything civilized to the anarchists, but perhaps it was still enough to help you.

You step calmly out of your cell and stand barefooted in the hallway.

> CAIUS: Find a phone, order a pizza, and eat it.


	19. > CAIUS: Find a phone, order a pizza, and eat it.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i get the feeling that this Pizza Boy will become a meme within this fanfiction

You look to your left. And then to your right. Coincidentally there's a phonebox at the corner, unguarded — perhaps it was once manned by the sentries who lay unconscious at your feet.

You make your way over, pick up the ancient telephone — _it's so huge —_ and dial the number you knew so well. You wonder briefly if they're still open after the revolution, but then the semi-bored voice saying 'hello Sam's Pizza, how may I take your order' reassures you that yes, they are.

'I will have twenty-four large pepperonis and twelve bottles of Pepsi,' you tell them.

They take your order and you tell them to locate your phone for delivery, and they do so. Within twenty minutes (for some reason _STILL_ no one has come to check your hallway) you hear the sound of a hovercraft above you, and few minutes later of a pizza boy and his cart rolling down the corridor. Apparently he's found you faster than the guards have.

'Delivery for a "Caius Cassius",' he says in a voice that clearly says he's seen everything, including prisoners ordering pizza from the middle of nowhere.

'That's me,' you reply, and he leaves the stack of pizzas and bags of soda with you before strolling off. Experimentally you pull one from the top box and take a large, cheezy bite.

Aw yes.

Heck.

Freaking.

Yes.

**Author's Note:**

> ****SUBMISSION GUIDELINES****
> 
> Hello, and welcome to the Seventy-Sixth Hunger Games.
> 
> Here's how to submit:
> 
> 1.) See the little "comment" button? Click it.  
> 2.) Tell me what you want to happen.  
> 3.) That's it. Seriously. 
> 
> OTHER IMPORTANT GUIDELINES TO SUBMITTING COMMANDS:  
> 1.) I do NOT want a vague "I want there to be a girl with pink hair and a guy with blue hair and for them to fall in love before the girl gets killed by a guy with orange hair."  
> 2.) What I AM looking for is something like "Petronius: Do a silly dance on the floor, then trip on your chair" or "Artemis: Pull your weapon and charge" or "Enter Name: Todd Smrglebuff".  
> 3.) If you are familiar with text-based adventure games, it's kind of like that.  
> 4.) If you're not, don't be afraid to look it up. Another helpful reference is something called "MSPAINTADVENTURES".  
> 5.) If you have other suggestions that are not player commands, such as describing a character or terrain descriptions (or even future plot twists that you want to see me steer this boat towards if you absolutely MUST), feel free to drop them in, but without the command format.  
> 6.) NOTHING NSFW, EXPLICIT, OVERLY GORY, ETC. PLEASE. This is a T-rated fic and will STAY that way.  
> 7.) If I don't get any useable reader commands, then I'll make one up on my own. Please don't make me do that though. My writing is boring. I want to know what YOU guys want to happen.  
> 8.) If you have any other questions that aren't answered in this note, feel free to ask away!! I'm always happy to answer. :)
> 
> Guidelines may be changed/revoked at any given time.
> 
> Thanks guys!! Can't wait to see we come up with together. :)
> 
> ************EDIT: 2/21/15.************  
> Would really love some names/character personality suggestions for the Empress and the other 7 main tributes. I'm going for more characters with like a main theme (i.e. Petronius has themes tying into Saint Peter, Artemis with the goddesses Artemis and Athena, the Empress just general awesomeness, Nicki Minaj, totes-a-queen and such) and names with meaning, just because it might help later on as I'm trying to get the story together. Anything and everything is helpful!! :)


End file.
